


Legend of the Accursed Fruitcake of Camlann

by Kantayra



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-03
Updated: 2011-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-19 01:45:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantayra/pseuds/Kantayra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Accursed Fruitcake of Camlann was said to have been a rejected Christmas present from Morgana to Merlin, forever doomed to pass on from wizard to wizard, bringing its curse upon all who dared regift it. This is its epic story over the ages and how one brave wizard finally defeated the Accursed Fruitcake’s evil spell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Legend of the Accursed Fruitcake of Camlann

**Author's Note:**

> Written mini_fest's Long Prompt 25: _Ancient fruitcake that’s been passed on family to family, year to year because everyone’s too afraid to eat it._ The Ballad of the Accursed Fruitcake of Camlann is shamelessly ripped-off from The Cruel Sister, which is a perfectly lovely ballad and did not deserve this at all. Endless thanks to kallysten, who slew my typos and provided about half the jokes in this when I was stumped (the funny ones are all hers).

The Accursed Fruitcake of Camlann was said to date to Merlin’s time. As Merlin and Morgana marshaled their forces for what seemed the inevitable final battle, the Winter Solstice dawned. In that precarious moment, Morgana made a critical mistake. Thinking to mend the rift between them, she created a gift for Merlin: a fantastical, magical wonder of unparalleled power. The edible and inedible were combined with darkest magic to create a concoction that would last for all eternity until finally eaten. It was not fruit, and it was not cake, but a monstrous melding of the two. It was an enormous, round, unholy pastry, with great globules of red and green and what looked like they might be raisins, yet weren’t.

It was, in short, the first fruitcake, and wizardkind trembled in awe at its might.

Merlin took one look at the gift Morgana proudly presented to him, and barely managed a “thank you for the kind thought” without being sick. Morgana waited patiently, eying her magnificent fruitcake and Merlin’s plate. Merlin merely smiled politely. “Next!”

Morgana swore a blood oath that very night, that the spot upon which she had created the Accursed Fruitcake would mark the fall of Merlin’s dream and that, forever after, the Accursed Fruitcake would bring misery upon all who regifted it.

Over the centuries, a bard’s song emerged:

>   
> _  
> **Ballad of the Accursed Fruitcake of Camlann**   
> _
> 
> _Accursed Fruitcake of Camlann,  
>  With raisins, nuts, and many hues,  
> If e’er thou art gazed upon,  
> Tra-la-la-la-la-la-la, la-la-la._
> 
>  _O, Fruitcake, Fruitcake, never give,  
>  With raisins, nuts, and many hues,  
> Else good friendship ne’er shall live,  
> Tra-la-la-la-la-la-la, la-la-la._
> 
>  _Fruitcake shall bring thee death and strife,  
>  With raisins, nuts, and many hues,  
> And with it love die by the knife,  
> Tra-la-la-la-la-la-la, la-la-la._
> 
>  _But were it given e’er in hate,  
>  With raisins, nuts, and many hues,  
> Curse be broken when it’s ate,  
> Tra-la-la-la-la-la-la, la-la-la._
> 
>  _O, Cursed Fruitcake of Camlann,  
>  With raisins, nuts, and many hues,  
> Some day now by this fate be gone,  
> Tra-la-la-la-la-la-la, la-la-la._

Of course, plenty of wizarding scholars pointed out that that just wasn’t proper Old English, but the tune was quite catchy and no one ever paid attention to wizarding scholars anyway.

Thus, the fruitcake passed on in legend, from wizard to wizard, bringing its curse upon them all. This is its story and the story of how one brave wizard finally defeated the Accursed Fruitcake of Camlann’s evil spell.

***

After the beginning of _The Legend of Merlin, Morgana, and the Fruitcake_ , the Accursed Fruitcake of Camlann passed into obscurity for many centuries. Some insisted that the fruitcake that finally emerged in the historical record wasn’t even the same fruitcake at all, but rather that _all_ fruitcakes were accursed, since they _were_ particularly lousy Christmas gifts, after all.

In any case, the next time an Accursed Fruitcake appeared in the historical record was in the late 10th century, just prior to founding of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Ground was to be broken that following May, and the four founders were celebrating Yuletide at the Howgawldy Inn. Merry drinks were poured, and Helga Hufflepuff outshone them all with the magnificent gold cup that Rowena Ravenclaw had just given her to celebrate the occasion.

In fact, all the gifts had been passed around that night, each finer than the last, save one. Salazar Slytherin ran his finger along the edge of his wine glass impatiently. He’d already gotten Godric Gryffindor the best present so far (in his not-so-humble opinion): a snake-charming flute. Slytherin was quite proud of the thought that had gone into this gift, because he had noticed the sad dearth of snakes around Gryffindor and knew the other wizard must be pining tragically in secret. Gryffindor had been rendered speechless by the thoughtful present, which just went to show how insightful Slytherin really was.

However, Gryffindor was having far too good a time drinking and trying to look down Hufflepuff’s neckline, and Slytherin was getting impatient for his return gift. But since Slytherin was impeccably mannered and brilliantly subtle and clever, he didn’t reveal his irritation. Much.

“Oh, right.” Gryffindor rubbed his head where Slytherin’s bread-roll had just struck it. “Your gift. Happy Christmas, old friend,” and Gryffindor pulled a monstrosity from his bag.

Slytherin went a bit green. It was giant, it made an unnerving ‘thunk’ when Gryffindor dropped it onto the table, and it had all sorts of inedible-looking, weirdly-colored junk sticking out of it at strange angles.

“My house,” Slytherin informed Gryffindor icily, “is going to make your house’s lives hell _forever_.”

Such was the curse of the Accursed Fruitcake!

***

The next confirmed sighting of the Accursed Fruitcake of Camlann was near Hogsmeade, just prior to the Goblin Rebellion of 1612. All was calm and peaceful that Yule, and Richard Lockhart and Urg the Unclean were walking home from a long night out.

Lockhart yawned as the clock gonged midnight. “Christmas Eve,” he said wistfully.

“And Merlin only knows why you’re out spending it with me instead of Eugenia,” Urg nudged him in the ribs.

Lockhart laughed. “We’ve all day today and tomorrow and then a lifetime of wedded bliss, come June.”

“You hope ‘come June,’” Urg retorted. “Eugenia may be fond of your looks, but you’d better keep up with the wealth.”

Lockhart sighed. “Yes, she _is_ perfect for me, isn’t she?”

Urg rolled his eyes. “Have you picked out her Christmas present yet?”

“I have, in fact, acquired a rare, powerful, ancient artifact to bestow upon her.” Lockhart patted his bag. “It’s right here.”

Urg grunted. “It had better be at _least_ 50 carats…”

Lockhart pulled out the jewel from his bag. And ‘jewel’ was an entirely figurative term.

Urg blinked in disbelief at the hideous mass of fruitcake before him. “She’s going to murder you in your sleep.”

Lockhart scowled. “I’ll have you know that this fruitcake is an infamous antique and—”

“Actually, she won’t even be willing to go near enough to your bed to murder you in your sleep.”

They came to a halt by the fountain, Lockhart sputtered with rage, and next thing anyone knew, Urg was in the fountain, wizards and goblins were screaming at each other left and right, and a rebellion had been born.

Christmas morning, Lockhart presented Eugenia with the Accursed Fruitcake anyway, despite his former friend’s wise warning. She did not actually murder Lockhart, although she did upend her drink squarely upon his head. And then, to add insult to injury, a month later announced her engagement to none other than Urg himself, who – it so happened – had been hording away a 49.3 carat diamond for quite some time.

That bit didn’t help to ease the tensions of the rising rebellion at all, historians later would note.

***

In 1782, the fruitcake’s curse struck once more. Once again, two lovers met on Christmas. Once again, coy smiles were exchanged, along with presents. Once more, one lover opened their box to find a horrendous fruitcake leering up at them. Literally, some curse experts say, for the candied fruits had become so imbued with magic over time that they had taken on the ability to function as the fruitcake’s eyes.

However, the recipient of this gift – one Edmund Potter – had the misfortune of being both very brave and deeply in love with Maeven Gaunt. So, with a gulp and a wary smile, he picked up his fork and shoved a big bite of potentially self-aware fruitcake into his mouth.

Maeven gave him an awed, enamored smile, and one could practically _hear_ the wedding bells chiming in the distance.

And then Edmund Potter let out a horrific hack.

Maeven watched on in horror as her beloved choked to death before her very eyes.

The recriminations between the two families afterwards were bloody. Edmund’s brother Edgar swore that Maeven had murdered Edmund on purpose. There was a trial and a scandal, and although Maeven finally escaped Azkaban, the Gaunt family was ruined by the cost of Maeven’s defense and fell into destitution. And anyone who has ever read a history book knows how a certain descendent of Maeven’s Who Will Not Be Named took gleeful, malicious joy generations later in repayment for _that_.

The Accursed Fruitcake, on the other hand, continued to sit smugly in its box and, over the next few years, managed to heal the one bite taken from it. For, if a Potter’s love could not defeat this vile fruitcake’s curse, what power in the universe _could_?

***

The year was 1898, and Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald’s friendship was at its peak. And, of course, for Dumbledore, it was quite a bit _more_ than friendship. In short, Dumbledore liked Grindelwald. And Grindelwald knew that Dumbledore liked him. And Dumbledore knew that Grindelwald knew that Dumbledore liked him. And Grindelwald knew that… Well, you get the picture.

Needless to say they were both very bright young men, but the cunning layers of intrigue that would later characterize their careers were rather trivialized by the fact that they were teenagers.

In fact, Dumbledore was currently devoting a good 90% of his mental acuity to thinking that just _maybe_ Grindelwald was starting to like him back. Dumbledore had caught Grindelwald with an odd glint in his eyes several times the past few weeks. However, Dumbledore hadn’t yet figured out what to do about his suspicions, short of sending Grindelwald a letter:

>   
> _Do you like me?  
>  YES NO  
> (Please circle one!)_   
> 

It was a troubling dilemma, indeed.

That night, though, promised the end to all Dumbledore’s confusion and doubt. Christmas was next week, and Dumbledore would be preoccupied with his family at that time, so this was the last night before the holidays that he and Grindelwald had a chance to spend alone together.

Dumbledore had been trying to come up with a subtle way of suggesting a romantic dinner for two, when Grindelwald beat him to the punch:

>   
> _My place, seven-ish, supper? Let yourself in – I have a surprise for you and may be running late. Also: plan to spend the night._   
> 

Dumbledore had read the parchment over at least a thousand times since first receiving it. After the 400th or so, it had ripped, but that hadn’t stopped Dumbledore. Of course, he’d arrived unfashionably early and had been pacing for well over an hour, riling himself up.

Grindelwald finally arrived at half past seven with a wicked smile on his face. “I’ve got you something,” he teased.

Dumbledore perked up. There was an oddly mischievous light in Grindelwald’s eye – that same light Dumbledore had been noticing lately – and hope sprung anew. “Oh?” he tried not to blush.

“You’ll never guess,” Grindelwald winked and breezed by Dumbledore into the flat.

Grindelwald’s manner was quite befuddling to Dumbledore, because it really _did_ seem like Grindelwald might be flirting after all…

“Let’s see, then,” Dumbledore tried to play it cool.

With another saucy grin, Grindelwald reached into his bag and pulled out…

“Oh.” Dumbledore blinked. “I see.”

The fruitcake winked up at him almost as flirtatiously as Grindelwald had.

“It’s one of the immortal, cursed objects we read about last week, don’t you remember?” Grindelwald said excitedly. “Black magic incarnate!”

“Right…” Dumbledore sighed.

“They say it’s even achieved minimal sentience over the centuries,” Grindelwald enthused. “I thought we could study the curses on it tonight!”

Put off by the “minimal” comment, the Accursed Fruitcake jiggled its candied jellies as best it could in protest.

“Er…” Dumbledore said. “Is it trying to dance?”

“Merlin only knows! Or, rather, Morgana. Let’s see what happens when we try to use extract from it in curse potions!” Grindelwald suggested gleefully.

Dumbledore sighed. It was not the evening he’d envisioned. “Fine…” he agreed.

A certain hope in Dumbledore died that night, though, and a seed of doubt was born, and – as a result – it was only a few months later that…well, you know.

***

In 1933, the Great Depression weighed heavily on wizarding Britain, and Septimus Weasley was forced to clean out the antiques from the attic to even find presents for his friends and family. The Weasley attic was already quite sparse, but in one far-back corner, warded to contain black magic, was a box, and in that box was an Accursed Fruitcake. Weasley had been dreadfully concerned about what to get his dearest friend, Abraxas Malfoy, but something to do with black magic _seemed_ the best bet…

Anyone can imagine how well _that_ went over.

***

Finally, as Christmas approached in 2000, Draco Malfoy was sulking in Malfoy Manor. The war was over, and the Malfoys had once more slithered their way out of any convictions, but Draco Malfoy was _still_ sulking. It was one of the things he did best, after all.

The primary _reason_ that Malfoy was sulking was that, now more than ever, Harry Potter was the wizarding world’s darling, while Malfoy spent most of his time holed up in the Manor to avoid being spat on in public.

Malfoy had gotten himself into a good rage over the subject and was pacing the library frantically, when one of his fiercely sharp turns caused him to stub his toe on the stop holding the door ajar. Malfoy glared at the thing and then, for the first time since his grandfather had stuck it there, realized what it was. Because, of course, it was entirely above Malfoys to ever even _glance_ at doorstops. Or fruitcakes, as this particular doorstop happened to be.

Once Malfoy realized what the doorstop was, however, he immediately concocted a poorly thought-out plan, which wasn’t unusual at all, because virtually _all_ of Malfoy’s plans were poorly thought out. Malfoy’s poorly thought-out plan went roughly like this:

>   
> _1) Fruitcake is cursed.  
>  2) Give fruitcake to Potter.  
> 3) ???  
> 4) Profit!_   
> 

Malfoy’s first step in implementing his plan was the try to send the fruitcake to Potter via owl, but Malfoy owls also excelled in the field of sneering, and Malfoy was forced to beat a hasty retreat and try a different tactic.

And so, that Christmas Eve, Malfoy found himself apparating to Potter’s now-replotted residence at Grimmauld Place. Malfoy scowled up at the sky, which had the nerve to be sleeting while a Malfoy was out, and rapped on the door.

There was some shuffling inside and muttered voices. The muttered voices grew louder in anger and alarm, until Malfoy couldn’t take it anymore. “I _can_ hear you, you know,” he announced.

The voices inside quieted, and then the door creaked open.

“M-Malfoy?” Potter looked bewildered and slightly ruffled, but then Potter _always_ looked like that. Behind him, Granger looked worried, and Weasley angry.

“Are you planning to make me stand on your doorstep all evening?” Malfoy snapped.

Potter’s eyes widened, and he ushered Malfoy inside.

Malfoy held his nose up high and crossed the threshold. He nodded respectfully to Walpurga Black’s portrait, and she smiled adoringly back. Other than that, however, the house had gone to waste; Potter was obviously redecorating. In red and gold.

Malfoy sneered for good measure.

“What are you doing here?” Granger asked warily.

“Am I not allowed to give Potter a Christmas present, then?” Malfoy sneered some more.

“Poison or explosive?” Weasley demanded.

Potter put a hand on Weasley’s arm, though. “You got me a Christmas present?” he asked Malfoy, a bit breathlessly.

“Er, well, I…” It suddenly occurred to Malfoy that, in his fit of pique, he’d managed to do something both completely implausible _and_ beneath his dignity. “Just take it!” he snarled and shoved the box into Potter’s hands.

Potter opened the box with a hopeful sort of look. “Thanks,” he said in a voice that sounded not nearly horrified enough at the prospect of being the new owner of an Accursed Fruitcake.

“Let’s see, then,” Weasley nudged his way to Potter’s side. “Hey, fruitcake!” Weasley’s face lit up. “Maybe you’re all right after all, Malfoy.”

Malfoy blinked. Surely, these people were insane. But, before he could make his escape, he was shuffled into a kitchen, and Weasley had pulled out a knife and plate and was cutting into the Accursed Fruitcake with great zeal.

“I _muff_ mootmape!” Weasley said, his mouth stuffed full.

The Accursed Fruitcake let out an epic scream.

“So,” Potter said awkwardly to Malfoy, “what have you been up to since the war?”

In the background, Weasley served himself up a second slice, and the Accursed Fruitcake wailed tragically.

They were all _deranged_! But Malfoy was trapped now by the rules of propriety and stammered, “Oh, not much. You?”

“Oh, woe!” proclaimed the Accursed Fruitcake, in quite a Shakespearean way actually. “Woe upon woe!”

“Busy.” Potter sighed, seemingly entirely oblivious to the sentient fruitcake withering away in the background. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I am slain! _Slain_!” cried the Accursed Fruitcake when Weasley all but inhaled another slice, not even bothering to place it on his plate this time.

Malfoy gulped. “Yes, well, I had better be going, and—”

“Want some?” Weasley finally looked up long enough to offer the last piece of the Accursed Fruitcake to all. The slice gurgled in defeat.

“Merlin, no,” Granger, Potter, and Malfoy all managed to say at once.

“More for me, then,” Weasley shrugged. And, taking an epic forkful that consisted of the entire last slice of Accursed Fruitcake, Weasley shoveled it straight into his mouth.

The Accursed Fruitcake _tried_ to struggle valiantly, but the black hole that all Weasleys possessed where their stomachs should be sucked the fruitcake down, down, down into the bowels of hell. The Accursed Fruitcake let out one last unholy shriek and then was no more.

Weasley let out an impressive belch.

“Honestly, _Ronald_!” Granger scolded. “Do you even _know_ what that was?”

“What?” Weasley blinked at her cluelessly. “I _like_ fruitcake!”

Granger rubbed her temples like this was an unfortunately regular occurrence for her.

Malfoy would have said something scathing, but something very strange was happening. As the Accursed Fruitcake had died, one by one, the curses it had wrought were unraveled, back further and further through the ages.

First of all, Malfoy suddenly realized that perhaps all Weasleys weren’t the hopeless gits he had always thought they were, and perhaps it had been inappropriately rude of him to insult Ronald Weasley’s family non-stop back at Hogwarts; they _were_ still purebloods, after all. Weasley gave Malfoy an odd look, too, like he’d had the unlikely thought that maybe all Malfoys _weren’t_ the epitome of all evil in the universe.

Then, the portrait of Grindelwald at his cousin’s house in Hamburg suddenly had the strangest urge to visit his old friend’s portrait at Hogwarts. Grindelwald, for the life of him, couldn’t fathom why he’d been so stubborn about the matter for so many years, and Dumbledore’s portrait, upon seeing his friend after so long, found – to his surprise – that certain feelings were still quite present inside him that he hadn’t experienced once since he was a teenager.

Immediately afterward, Potter was struck by the odd question of whether Tom Riddle had any relatives still surviving. And, if they did, it really _would_ be for the good of the wizarding world if he made it clear that there were no hard feelings, wouldn’t it? After all, persecution would only breed another Dark Lord…

At Gringott’s, the goblins in charge of the Lockhart vault had a sudden change of heart. After all, the poor Lockhart heir was quite invalid since his Obliviation, and it was against the Goblin Code to embezzle funds from clients, anyway. In fact, the goblins couldn’t even remember why they’d been doing so all these years, and so they concluded that they’d leave the man alone from now on.

And, finally, all across wizarding Britain, former Slytherins and Gryffindors suddenly reflected that they’d probably taken things quite a bit too far during their school days. It was the Christmas season, after all, and dozens of letters of apology and forgiveness were penned back and forth that very night.

And Malfoy…

Malfoy blinked twice, very slowly, and finally _looked_ at Potter for the very first time. And, as soon as Malfoy had done so, he couldn’t _imagine_ what had possessed him to leave Gryffindor House out of his list of ‘Most Shaggable Men at Hogwarts.’ His mouth went suddenly dry as he took in Potter’s biceps and shoulders, and Malfoy licked his lips nervously.

Potter, for his part, found himself _staring_ at Malfoy’s wetted lips in rapt fascination. Potter could feel a blush rising to his cheeks, and his Chest Monster growled at the thought of what those lips could do.

And, if one might suspect that Weasley would be sick at all the ogling that was going on, one would _severely_ underestimate the fortitude of a Weasley’s digestion. Rather, Weasley just rolled his eyes and asked, “So, when’s supper?”

 _Everyone_ gaped at him in disbelief.

***

Soon thereafter, there was an attempt to add a final verse to _The Ballad of the Accursed Fruitcake of Camlann_ :

 _  
_

> _Ne’er dare cross Ron’s stomach!  
>  With raisins, nuts, and many hues,  
> Harry and Ma-a-a-a-alfoy began to fu—!_

 _  
_

But, fortunately, Angelina Weasley clobbered her husband over the head before he could finish.

The End


End file.
